


The Boy With The Brown Eyes

by rubycrowned



Series: And Through Your Eyes (I See The One I Wish I Was) [2]
Category: 1D - Fandom, One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubycrowned/pseuds/rubycrowned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's number one rule is "don't bring them back to yours". Guess which rule he breaks (first) when he meets Liam at a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy With The Brown Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> HI :)) This is the second part of the series which started months ago with 'The Boy With The Green Eyes' and which I've finally got around to officially turning into a series and continuing :) The series is going to be called 'And Through Your Eyes, I See The One I Wish I Was' (at least for now), because apparently I like long and rambly titles bc I'm cool like that. I have the rest of the series planned out (6 parts all up, one from each of the boys pov and a final one, most likely from Louis'), but I might not get onto the next part for a little while bc I owe about 6 different people fic for xmas (lol oops). I WILL GET ONTO IT THOUGH. PROMISE. This installment, in case you can't tell from the summary, is Zayn's part (with a tiny bit from Liam pov bc #LWWY). Enjoy <3

Zayn wakes to the heavy weight of an arm slung over his torso, tugging at his senses as he slowly drifts back into consciousness, the fuzzy edges of sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes.

The heavy weight of an arm which definitely doesn’t belong to Zayn.

Ok, so that’s not _so_ unusual; Zayn knows perfectly well how good looking he is after all, and how often that translates into not going home alone after a night out – if he goes home at all. Although it is slightly more unusual that they do indeed appear to be at Zayn’s flat, Zayn’s eyes blinking blearily to orient himself; generally, Zayn tries to go back to whoever’s place it is that he’s picked up for the night – less mess, less fuss sneaking out in the grey light of morning than dealing with… _this_. Zayn’s eyes cast a glance over the body lain over him, still lightly snuffling in his sleep.

And there’s half the problem with this situation right there; because this looks suspiciously like cuddling. Except it can’t be seeing as Zayn doesn’t _do_ cuddling. Even if said not-cuddling is particularly cosy and warm in the quiet soft of morning.

The bed (and boy) might be comfy, but that really does nothing to help the increasingly insistent pressure of his bladder as Zayn tries to will himself back to sleep. Eventually, he has no choice but to move.

He tries to jostle the sleeping boy as little as possible as he climbs from the bed, but before he gets more than a leg slid out from under the covers into the comparatively chill air, a light, sleepy groan fills the air, and Zayn looks down to meet two owlish brown eyes blinking blearily up at him.

“’m wha’ timesit?” he slurs in a way that Zayn adamantly refused to consider adorable as he watches the boy ruffle his hair and only succeed in making it stand up at even crazier angles.

“’Bout nine. Sorry. Really needed to piss.”

“Oh. Right,” the boy manages, somewhat more coherently.

“Uh, good night last night though, right Liam?” Zayn feels compelled to try and make this conversation even more awkward than it already is apparently. However, the memories of the night before have him smirking down at the boy in his bed, and he’s mostly sure he used the right name – he’d had more weed than alcohol last night, and even then he’d given half his joint to Louis early in the party. He did hope Liam was the right name though; it was definitely the name he’d moaned as the boy had slammed into him at a vicious pace.

“Hm. Yeah-” and of course that’d be when he decided to yawn. And Zayn, still lost in fond nostalgia of their earlier activities, only needed to glance at the way the movement stretched Liam’s mouth wide open to be hit with the image of Liam’s lips in a taut ‘o’ of pleasure as Zayn swallowed down his cock not that many hours ago.

“So I’m just gonna, uh. Bathroom.”

Zayn spins quickly in the direction his thumbs had pointed in over his shoulder as he spoke, leaving Liam before he can properly get his mouth closed again. He really _does_ need to pee at this stage, a process which isn’t going to be any easier unfortunately now that he has a raging hard-on.

_Smooth, Zayn._

At least, with any luck, Liam will be gone by the time Zayn ventures back out. It’s definitely been one of the most awkward morning-afters he’s ever encountered. _Reason #26 as to why I always go back to theirs_ , he reminds himself.

It was strange though, the little part of him that hadn’t really minded it all that much (at all).

***

Liam tries not to splutter at the burn in his throat as the mix of noxious liquids in his red cup sears straight down to warm his stomach. He quickly follows it with another generous gulp, in the hope that it’ll soon improve.

And this is why Liam doesn’t usually drink, or at least not the undiluted spirits this drink had been composed of. He couldn’t find the appeal – in either the dreadful taste or in the loss of control he feels on any rare occasion he passes that point of loose limbed and relaxed.

Except that was exactly why he wanted – needed – to be drinking tonight. He craved that loss of control; the feeling where all his priorities changed and he’d say or do things completely unlike himself. And later he could blame it all on ‘the alcohol’; because that clearly wasn’t the _real_ Liam.

It’s just as Liam has decided that, _fuck it_ , it isn’t going to slow him from progressing to wasted _that_ much if he adds some lemonade to his drink, that he sees him.

He’s leaning side on against the cramped fire escape (which Ed had referred to as ‘the balcony’ earlier, Liam dimly remembers). He passes a cigarette to another boy stood next to him, who’s wearing blindingly bright trousers; as he does so he bursts out laughing, seemingly in spite of himself, smoke curling out in tendrils before finally being released in a bark of laughter that Liam thinks he can almost hear through the glass and past the room of people.

He loses sight of him as a couple of guys Liam knows vaguely from one of his classes come up to make obnoxiously loud, and largely incoherent, conversation; Andy, Liam thinks one of their names is.

By the time Andy and his mate stagger off to a group of scantily clad girls in the corner, Liam can’t see any sign of the dark-haired boy from the fire escape.

It’s later, as couples sway together in the low light (same part of Liam’s brain recognises it’s more grinding, if that, than swaying, but that’s not nearly as romantic), and Liam thinks that he’d maybe like to be doing that too; yet, even though his lips are tingling in a strangely pleasant way, he’s not quite sure still how to initiate it with anyone.

And then a lean body comes to rest against the wall next to Liam and _hey, I recognise those jeans somewhere…and that jacket…and._

_Oh._

“You look like you want to be in there with them.” The boy nods towards the crush of bodies.

And maybe that alcohol has kicked in, because Liam’s mouth seems to be running ahead of his brain as he rakes his gaze over the dark-clothed body before him, until he locks onto a pair of surprisingly warm brown eyes.

“Hadn’t found anyone I wanted to dance with. Yet.”

The other boy’s lips twisted into a smirk which sent fire burning over Liam’s face and deep in his belly.

“Well looks like we’re both stuck over here then; I don’t dance. Not this kind of dance anyway.”

Their arms are close enough that Liam can feel the hairs on his bare forearm prickling in response.

Tonight is all about getting away from the Liam he’s supposed to be, the Liam he doesn’t want to be. That Liam would never be drunk, standing too close to a boy with a sky-high quiff and a leather jacket that fits snug around his tight frame.

A boy whose eyes scream _danger_ but Liam sees _adventure_ ; who Liam would usually run from, but tonight just wants to sigh _yes_ as the boy ducks his head closer.

“Liam.”

“Zayn.”

***

Zayn is relieved, and not at all disappointed, when he leaves the bathroom and can’t see any sign of life from his bedroom through the open door across the hall.

As he rounds the corner at the end of the hall though, sending up a prayer to the universe that Louis left _some_ sort of edible food in the flat before they went out last night, he’s pretty sure he can hear the sound of water running in the kitchen.

And when he fully steps into the doorway of their small kitchenette, leaning against the counter as he sips at a glass of water, is Liam. A shirtless Liam stood only in a pair of what Zayn’s sure would be very nice dark-wash jeans, but as it is, Zayn’s a little distracted.

In his defence, it had been quite dark in his room the previous night when he’d managed to strip Liam of his clothes, everything occluded by shadow; and this morning there was messy hair and blankets obscuring his view. He’d been able to touch, to feel the lines of the muscles which contracted rhythmically when he arched his back, the breadth of his shoulders. But appreciating the view is something else entirely.

Zayn himself is wiry at best; he has muscle, is by no means weak, but he does do a pretty good impression of a skeleton at times. Liam on the other hand, has the physique of an athlete – all muscular arms and defined abdominals – and yet he’s still standing in Zayn’s kitchen, looking a bit sheepish as he tells Zayn something he’s really paying zero attention to.

“-n’t really know where anything was, otherwise I could’ve made you a tea or something.”

_Fuck_.

He really should’ve kicked this guy out more explicitly straight off; shouldn’t have been caught off guard (charmed) by his warm skin and toned body and bloody puppy-dog eyes, staring at him as though he’s genuinely sorry he can’t fix his one-night-stand a cuppa in _Zayn’s_ kitchen.

“Yeah, na, me and Lou are a bit shit at doing the shopping; we probably don’t have any in at any rate, mate.”

And at that, Liam ducks his head, swiping at his nose with his hand as he chuckles.

_God, please don’t let me have brought home a crazy._ Even Liam’s hotness won’t make up for it if he turns out to be a stalker or serial killer or something equally awful; Louis will never let him live it down.

“You okay?” Zayn asks warily.

Liam just lifts his head with an adorable ( _stop it, crazy is_ not _adorable_ ) grin on his face and replies as if it was obvious, “You rhymed,” and, at Zayn’s blank expression, adds, “rate, mate,” attempting a poor impression of Zayn’s accent and cracking up laughing again.

“You’re an absolute dork, you know that?” Zayn’s tone is total disbelief, although, as a positive, that _is_ probably less imminently dangerous than serial killer.

And Zayn can feel something akin to the fondness he has for Louis even when he sets the smoke alarm off for the third time that week with his ‘cooking’. And he’s so preoccupied with the crinkles which almost obliterate Liam’s eyes as he laughs that, when Liam shyly suggests that _we could go out for some breakfast…if you wanted_ , Zayn surprises them both by simply answering

“Yes.”

***

The guy looks kind of lost, standing against the wall with a red cup in his hand. But there’s something in the earnestness of his expression, the way he tugs at his lower lip with his teeth while watching people dance in the crowded lounge, that makes Zayn’s fingers curl tighter around his own vessel, itching for pencils and paper, or maybe a crumbling, smudging charcoal. Because even stood still, this boy exudes more life and restrained, restricted energy than Zayn can really remember.

So he goes over to him.

He’s clearly drunk; not off his face, not yet at the point where he couldn’t hold a conversation, or where Zayn has any doubt of him remembering this all come morning. But Zayn gets the feeling he’s more loose-lipped than normal perhaps; a heated flush of alcohol colouring high in his cheeks and deepening further in response to the most trivial of comments.

He’s forward enough though, emboldened maybe by the amber liquid running low in his cup.

Liam, his name is.

Straight fitting jeans, a pair of scuffed converse and a t-shirt which strains slightly against his well-built torso. His hair is a dark blonde tangled mop of barely managed soft curls – the tips golden where the remnants of a previous hair dye still maintained a presence – and slightly wilder than probably intended due to the heat of too many bodies in the small flat. And the warmest chocolate eyes Zayn’s ever seen; they somehow manage to be both glazed by alcohol and sharpened with a glint of determination which sends a shiver down Zayn’s spine and a smirk curling further up his lips as he recognises the lust which makes up at least a part of it. All less than a hands breadth from him.

“ZAYN HOW _COULD YOU_?? I THOUGHT YOU _LOVED_ ME! WHAT ABOUT THE _CHILDREN_?”

Zayn’s head jerks his head so fast it almost gives him whiplash in order to fix a glare at his flatmate, before glancing back to check on a thoroughly bewildered Liam. He sighs heavily, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose (or slap Louis round the back of the head. Either or).

“Louis, Liam. Liam please ignore this fuckwit. It’s what I spend 90% of my life doing.”

Liam seems torn between amusement and a vague look of terror; it’s not really an uncommon expression upon meeting Louis.

“Ooh you wound me, Zayn. If this is how you treat your best mate I’m going to have no choice but to abandon you and run off with the delightfully pretty boy I found.”

“If that’s your way of saying you’re off, Lou, then excellent. Good riddance. Please feel free to disappear any second now,” Zayn makes a shooing motion and when Louis moves to leave, he rolls his eyes dramatically as he turns his attention back to Liam, who is hopefully only mildly traumatised.

But he barely makes it back to facing the brown-eyed boy before Liam’s lips have crashed into his own.

It’s harsh and fevered, little to no technique as Liam seems to be focusing more on force and pressure and pulling at Zayn’s hair which is quickly destroyed from its overly styled quiff.

It’s kind of incredibly hot.

Zayn can hear somewhat distantly Louis’ voice, distinguishing the smirk apparent in the _don’t do anything I wouldn’t do_ , and flips him off as he leads Liam into some sort of pattern, biting at Liam’s lip where he’d watched Liam gnaw at it earlier, and pressing a leg between Liam’s to push him against the wall proper. He’s already groaning when Liam slides a confident tongue into Zayn’s mouth.

They’re still in a room cramped with probably close to fifty people, but it’s not until Zayn grinds into Liam’s hip, letting him feel his half-hard length, so thoroughly turned on by Liam and his persuasive mouth, that Liam pulls back with a gasp. His lips are puffy and spit-slick, his eyes pupil-blown so only a slivered ring of brown is visible, even as they widen and flicker wildly, as if he’s suddenly remembered himself, and can’t quite decide if he should bolt.

Zayn can feel Liam’s pulse rocketing under the hand he still has resting on Liam’s neck, and he shifts it to mouth over the pulse point in some approximation of a kiss.

“We can stop now if you’d like,” his mouth still hovering over Liam’s neck, lifting only slightly to murmur into his ear over the bass of the music, “or-”

Zayn bites at the spot he had kissed only moments before, sucking at the skin until Liam had begun to keen under the attention. He swipes his tongue flat over the reddening mark in apology and can feel Liam’s hum from his throat.

But then Liam’s pushing off from the wall, disentangling himself from Zayn.

Zayn knows his face has fallen visibly; he didn’t _really_ believe that Liam would turn him down at this point and, regardless, he’s horny as hell now and really, really wants Liam to fuck him.

Liam strokes Zayn’s cheek in an oddly fond gesture, at odds with the aggression of only minutes ago.

“Just gotta tell my flatmate I’m leaving.” He points a finger sternly at Zayn, “Wait here, don’t move.”

Zayn just grins because, even now, Liam retains this almost puppy-like quality that Zayn kind of wants to corrupt and maybe channel into something else; puppies have a lot of enthusiastic energy – Zayn wonders just how much stamina Liam might have.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, babe.”

Liam flashes him a small smile then disappears into the crush of people, leaving Zayn standing there, his cheek going cold without Liam’s hand pressing into it anymore.

He checks his phone quickly, finding one text from Louis ( _don’t wait up for me. c u 2moro :) xx_ ), and another from a number he recognises and immediately deletes without opening.

A slight frown creases Zayn’s features, suddenly paranoid that Liam’s ditched him and left him here like a fool.

He spots Liam near the kitchen, talking animatedly to a blonde guy – someone who actually does lessen Zayn’s insecurity, even as he shakes his head quietly at just how small this campus is; even with the tens of thousands of students, he still manages to pick up the guy who lives with Zayn’s first year lab partner.

He’s fairly sure now that Liam isn’t actually over there telling Niall about the brilliant joke he’d just played and, before the self-doubt can begin creeping back, Liam’s turning back again, searching Zayn out and giving him a grin that he looks like he’s trying to school but is failing miserably.

It’s enough to have Zayn’s confidence back in ful force well before Liam reaches him; by the time he does, Zayn is leaning on the (really rather convenient) wall once more, a smug smile firmly in place.

“Ready, then?”

“Definitely,” Liam goes to reach for Zayn’s hand, presumably to drag him out the door, but ends up messing it through his hair instead, “uh, apparently my place is kinda, erm, occupied tho? At the moment?”

Zayn almost snorts at the sudden nearly polite hesitancy concerning what sounds a lot like his flatmate bonking someone’s brains out back home.

And he knows what Liam’s asking. And it’s against one of Zayn’s biggest rules, but.

“Well we wouldn’t want to be putting them off with all our noise, would we?”

Liam stares at him a blankly for a second, so Zayn extends his hand and entangles their fingers their fingers.

“Come on. My flat’s only a couple streets over. And I have it on good authority that it’s _very_ much empty tonight.”

***

“So, you know Ed, then?” Zayn asks as they slide into a booth at the small diner Liam had led them to, insisting that they had the best wedges ever and they were just the sort of hot greasy food his hungover stomach needed at this point.

They’d been mostly quiet during the ten minute walk over; it hadn’t been uncomfortable exactly, but Zayn really didn’t want it to head in that direction if they had to sit there silently for their food to be made.

"Um…not really?” Liam phrases it as a question, and Zayn must inadvertently pull a face because he rushes on, “I mean I was invited? Sort of? I didn’t just crash it if that’s what you were thinking.” Zayn didn’t. “He works at the zoo with my flatmate. Keeps him fairly well stocked with free slushies I think from the sounds of it. And I needed to get out last night so I, uh, tagged along?"

Zayn takes pity on him and tries to sidestep the rambled explanation.

"So Niall's still over at the zoo then?"

"Yep. Wait." Liam's face creases in confusion. "How'd you know I was talking about Niall?"

Oops. It had just kind of slipped out. And Zayn hadn't quite decided yet whether he really wanted any links formed between him and Liam. But he didn’t really have much choice at this point.

"I saw you saying goodbye to him last night and recognised him," he paused, but couldn't really see how it could hurt telling him the snippet about himself, "We were lab partners in ECOL112 back in first year. Back then I think he was more or less a glorified rubbish man.”

Liam’s face lights up a bit. “Oh no, he’s definitely moved up in the world since then. Now he’s allowed to go and shovel the animal shit.”

They both crack up laughing – doubling over when Zayn point out that now he’s been promoted to “glorified pooper scooper” – and are still recovering when two huge bowls of wedges slathered with cheese, bacon, sour cream and sweet chilli sauce are placed before them. Zayn has to admit – this really does look like the hangover food of the gods.

They chat idly about unit while they work their way through their mountains of wedge-y goodness.

Liam’s in third year (same as Zayn) and turns out to be a commerce student – which is how he met Niall, pretty much the most stereotypical BCom student Zayn has ever met; play hard, party harder, sleep late and turn up for class when it’s _absolutely_ necessary).

And Zayn tells Liam about his psychology degree. He barely mentions in passing his art minor. And definitely doesn’t go near the part where he’s sent away an application to study at the Camberwall College of Arts after he graduates at the end of the school year. Not when Louis’ the only one he’s told so far (not even his parents know yet) and that’s only because it’s been Louis who’s nagged at him for a year and a half to _bloody well do something with this Zayn, because you are_ brilliant _mate_ (always and forever containing this awe-struck note held in his voice and the curve of his smile that Zayn doesn’t understand but wants to believe in), ever since Zayn had made the decision to trust Louis with seeing his sketchbook halfway through the 100-level art history class they met in, hopeful and hopelessly naïve.

Zayn only manages to get a bit over halfway through his meal before he feels like he might explode.

“For chrissake; how the hell do you manage to finish a plate of these?”

“I don’t,” Liam replies around a mouthful of potato and cheese.

“Niall?”

And damn that crinkly-eyed smile is still gut-clenchingly adorable even when he’s got a gob full of food, struggling to swallow and speak simultaneously.

“You really do know him, don’t you?” he asks with a laugh.

Zayn grins as he sips at the coffee he’d ordered part way through their conversation.

“He used to blackmail me into taking him crisps to our labs or he wouldn’t give me the answers.”

“Aren’t labs usually no food?”

“Mmhmm,” Zayn raises his eyebrow pointedly as he takes another gulp of the bitter, steaming coffee which makes his brain practically melt into submission, the last of his headache slowly dying away.

“You realise Niall would’ve helped you either way, right?”

“Yeah, it only took me about thirty minutes to figure that out; about the time he had begun doodling little Geodudes into the margins as an excuse for being able to point out when I wrote down the wrong answers. But still, he’s just such-”

“-An overeager puppy that he sucked you in anyway?”

Zayn huffs out a laugh ( _that’s rich coming from you_ ) but manages a “yeah, something like that. But then it was summer break and I guess we kinda lost touch or whatever. So,” he shrugs.

It’s then that the whirring buzz of Zayn’s vibrating phone interrupts them. It’s another message from Louis; _u home? Seem to hv msplacd my keyz oops :s_

"Well done, Lou," Zayn sighs under his breath, shaking his head and typing a quick _yr an idiot and i dont know why I hang out with u_.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah nah, its sweet, just Louis' locked himself out of the flat so it’s probably about time I left."

Especially when Zayn looks at his phone’s clock as he checks Louis' reply (“ _yeh but im yr idiot and u LOOOOVE me Malik” “sure sure. gimme 15 x_ ) and realises it’s gone midday - he's been sitting here with Liam for almost 2 hours and it feels like they've barely just gotten there.

"That's cool. Should probably go home and make sure no-one’s died without me. Shall we pay?" Liam glances at the mound of still uneaten food, "and maybe get some doggie bags?"

They make their way to the counter, Zayn digging into his back pocket for his wallet, when Liam curses quietly behind him. He spins around and silently begs an answer of Liam's furrowed brow and flushed cheeks.

"I forgot I gave Niall my card so he could buy a bottle of rum to take along last night. And all the cash I have in here is..." Liam rummages through wallet a bit more, "three pound forty."

Crap. Zayn had been automatically adding up the cost when they ordered - it had become habit even when he had a bit of money left in his account after the first year of being a broke uni student and getting caught out at embarrassing moments when his card declined; Liam’s definitely gonna be a fiver or so short.

Blessedly, Zayn knows his Mum had kindly transferred him a generous few quid the previous week when him and Lou had been living off toast and pot noodles for about a fortnight and they’d started to wonder about the possibility of scurvy setting in. And since Zayn’s been trying not to blow it too quickly – more than aware that things aren’t exactly flush at home – he’s still got a reasonable amount left in his account.

“No stress, I’ve got it,” he holds his card up to wave in front of Liam then, realising what it might look like and really not keen to go there (even if has enjoyed himself a surprising amount this morning), “I mean I don’t really fancy being a dish slave for the next month so you can pay me back like, just whenever.”

“You sure?” Liam’s face is still crumpled with worry and Zayn wants to smooth the creases away with his fingers. He doesn’t. But still.

“Seriously, it’s fine. Going by the look on your face you’d probably eat yourself alive with guilt if you didn’t pay me back so I’m not too worried about you not paying your debts.”

He turns and steps up to the till before Liam can get anything else in.

Once they’ve settled their bill, they wander back out into the street, cool with a hint of winter in the air.

“You know,” Liam speaks up, raised louder than usual as though he’s just worked up the nerve to say it and wants to make sure Zayn hears it, “my flat’s literally just around the corner if you want me to give you the money now; I’m sure there’s some cash in the swear jar-”

“I really should be getting back before Louis gets too grumpy with me; I rather fancy my eyebrows.”

Liam seems uncertain whether Zayn’s exaggerating or not (to be fair, Zayn isn’t entirely sure whether that possibility should be ruled out either), but he still asks, “Literally right around that corner there. You could text him and see if he minds? Five minutes and we’d be all square again.”

_But I quite like the idea of you owing me one_.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll send him a text. But he’s a right princess when he’s hungover so I doubt- oh.”

When he switches his screen back on there’s another message Zayn must’ve missed after he sent the last one.

_take ur time. was jst givin u warning. im quite comfy right @ the min ;) xx_

“Hm?” Liam’s managing to both lean away and crane his neck towards Zayn’s phone, as if uncertain if should invade his privacy to satisfy his curiosity.

“Looks like Louis hasn’t even left yet.”

“Oh,” Liam beams at him, “so you can come round then!”

“I-” Nope; Zayn’s mind is completely blanking. He tries to pull up a smile, “Yeah I guess so.”

“Excellent,” Liam gestures in the direction he’d pointed earlier and they begin walking.

They don’t even get to the corner before Zayn remembers something and has to ask.

“Wait, you actually have a swear jar?”

They both half stop, and just stare at each other for a second, before saying in unison, “Niall.”

It gets a short laugh out of both of them, and Liam shrugs as they turn into the next street.

“It works out quite good for booze money. And really, the amount each of us in the flat swear seems proportional to how much we drink, so it works out quite fair in the end.” He tugs Zayn at the elbow when he tries to keep walking and Liam directs him through one of the gates to a three-storey house which he presumes is a set of flats. “Just keep going up; we’re on the top floor.”

“So how many of you is ‘we’ exactly, then?” Zayn asks as Liam unlocks the door.

“Three,” Liam says with a smile, “Me, Niall and- _hey guys I’m home_!” he hollers out down the hall as they step inside and shut the door.

“Hey, Li! Good night?” A voice Zayn doesn’t recognises floats down from the open door down the end. They follow it down the hall.

“Yeah…yeah pretty good, really,” he turns to Zayn as he enters the room, “and this is the final third of our flat, who isn’t nearly as-”

And Zayn’s only just poked his head round the doorway but, besides the unfamiliar curly head looking at him from the sofa with a slightly confused expression, there’s another face tilting itself upside down at the other end in order to see Liam while he’s speaking.

“Louis?”

***

They stumble through the door of Zayn’s dark flat and Zayn tugs Liam by the belt loops towards his bedroom, teasing him with quick dirty kisses and breaths of _I can't wait for you to fuck me_ and _you gonna make me scream Liam?_

“God you just might,” he mutters after they've kicked the bedroom door closed and Zayn’s shoved his hand into Liam's pants, palming him roughly and feeling Liam's dick twitch, thickening in response.

And then they're back to where they were at the party; Liam surging to meet Zayn’s mouth, licking in hot and wet. Zayn can still taste the lingering sharp tang of alcohol on Liam's tongue, and kisses him until all he can taste is a sweet heat and Zayn’s cock is pressing insistently against the denim of his jeans.

Zayn pulls apart far enough to strip Liam of his shirt and bites, short and hard, at Liam's collarbone before sliding down to pop the button of Liam's trousers and yank them down. Liam whimpers quietly as Zayn’s hand rubs over his stiff cock in the process - still a thin layer of cotton between them - and Zayn cups him for a moment in apology, stroking with his thumb towards the head, hand not quite broad enough to reach the tip, then pushes him backwards to land on the bed, flailing slightly as he lands.

Zayn wastes no time shucking his own clothes, tossing them vaguely towards the corner of the room before he straddles Liam’s knees on the bed. He ducks straight down to mouth through damp material at Liam's cock, suppressing a smile at Liam's groan and the hand that Zayn suddenly finds entangled in his hair.

Zayn lets Liam pull his head up a little to look him in the eye as he bends back down to circle the tip of his tongue around Liam's belly button and drag it down towards the waistband of his pants. When he reaches it, Zayn nips at Liam's jutting hipbone and hooks his fingers into either side of the elastic. He shimmies backwards as he slowly tugs Liam's pants off, only dropping eye contact to watch appreciatively as Liam's swollen cock bounces free to slap wet against his stomach, dark and thick. Zayn can't help smirking when Liam's eyes flick down and a small moan escapes him as he watches Zayn’s lip dart out to swipe his lower lip.

Deciding he wants to see what other sounds Liam can make, Zayn drops down and swallows around Liam's head eagerly, only partially preventing the way Liam bucks his hips with an arm thrown across them because Zayn’s impossibly turned on by the idea of this gorgeous boy fucking his mouth; he just needs a bit of time to work up to it.

He begins bobbing his head, slowly working Liam further into his throat, alternating between pressing a flattened tongue to the underside as he swallows hot around him, and pulling off a bit to swirl his tongue around the head to curl into his slit, earning Zayn a chorus of groans from Liam for his efforts which has his own cock throbbing, untouched and almost painfully hard.

He's working Liam with one spit-slick hand while he sucks, when he decides he really needs to relieve some of his own pressure. It means dropping his other arm from Liam’s hips, giving him free movement once more. Liam certainly does thrust upwards, seeking renewed contact, when Zayn blows a sigh of air onto his dick, eyes rolling back a little as he manages to pump himself jerkily.

It’s nothing, however, to Liam's reaction when Zayn reaches the hand slowly wanking himself further back, away to slip down and run a finger around his rim, causing him to all out moan, the vibrations humming around Liam's cock. All of a sudden Zayn’s being further onto Liam’s cock, fingers knotting tightly in his hair as Liam rolls his hips until Zayn’s nearly nosing Liam’s stomach. His eyes are watering a little, trying to keep his throat muscles relaxed, but it feels so good he thinks he could almost come from this, especially as he nudges a finger inside himself.

But then Liam’s movements start to stutter too, and it takes all of Zayn’s will power to pull off, to crawl up the bed despite the whining protests to press open mouthed kisses up the column of Liam’s neck to reach his mouth, entrapping his lips with his own puffy and swollen ones until their heartbeats slow a little and Zayn can rasp into Liam’s ear, low and wrecked.

“Sorry babe, but I really, really want you inside me.”

Liam’s breath hitches in the quiet dim of night; yellow stripes of light from outside highlighting the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“You like the sound of that, yeah? Want to fuck me ‘til I’m begging? ‘Til I can’t walk tomorrow?”

Liam still doesn’t say anything, but the way he pulls Zayn in for another fierce kiss, dick smearing precome against Zayn’s stomach where it’s trapped between them, and both of them rutting forward so that their erections catch and slide, is answer enough for Zayn.

They’re really just moaning into each other’s mouths by the time Zayn rolls away to grab lube and a condom from beside the bed, and Liam’s propped himself up by the time he flops back down onto the pillow, grinning up at Liam with a new idea.

“You wanna watch me open myself up, babe? You sounded so good when I was sucking you off, so hot, I needed a finger so bad. You wanna see?”

Liam’s just looking at him, eyes wide, and Zayn dimly thinks there’s a little bit of shock, of hesitancy hidden in them, but it’s hidden by the overwhelming lust, hunger that envelopes his stare. He jerks his head in a nod.

Zayn begins fingering himself without preamble, still too wound up in anticipation to do this slow, to play it up and drag it out. He slicks his fingers with lube and immediately pushes his index finger in to the knuckle, meeting little resistance. Liam’s moved himself on the bed so he can see unobstructed and he’s barely able to shift his gaze from Zayn’s thrusting fingers as he strokes himself.

It’s not long before Zayn’s writhing just from his fingers and the sight of Liam getting increasingly worked up watching him. He slips three fingers from his hole as he looks over at Liam with half lidded eyes, panting out, “Need you inside me, now.”

Liam wastes no time clambering over to press a kiss to Zayn’s lips, and Zayn lets himself tangle his hands briefly in Liam’s curls before he’s tearing open the condom packet and rolling it onto Liam, sliding his lube coated fingers down his shaft and squeezing gently.

“Now. Please.”

When Liam pushes in, he’s not slow or careful or anything Zayn was a little afraid he might’ve been, considering the way he had more or less let Zayn boss him around the entire night. Instead, he bottoms out in one smooth thrust, stretching Zayn like his fingers never did, pleasure being edged out by pain. But Liam also doesn’t wait long to adjust before he’s rapidly picking up a rhythm which has Zayn near bouncing on the bed, cock slapping his torso between them. And when Zayn hitches his ankles around Liam’s arse, pulling him closer and changing the angle just enough, Zayn’s soon begging and moaning for Liam to move harder, faster, anything so long as he doesn’t stop.

Liam still doesn’t say much, quiet but for low moans and hitching sighs as he pounds Zayn into the mattress, but when Zayn manages to move a hand to fist his dick, Liam nudges it off. Zayn thinks maybe he wants to try get him off without it – a ridiculously hot thought even if Zayn considers it unlikely – until Liam replaces it with his own firm grip.

He strokes Zayn haltingly for a second, all broad fingers and slightly rough, calloused skin; Zayn gently removes his hand, holding it by the wrist with his own. Liam slows his pace, almost stops completely as he seems to look askance of him. Zayn only raises Liam’s hand up to his face, licking a filthy stripe up the palm, sucking teasingly on the tip of his middle finger before releasing him.

This time the pumps of Liam’s fist are smoother, more confident as he tries to match them to his pace, which has only increased now, leaving Zayn an incoherent mess of _fuckLigodyoufeelsogoodjesusfuckthereagainpleaseLiamLiamLiam_ before he jerks his hips and spills into Liam’s hand.

Liam strokes him through it, then drops his hand to grip, wet and sticky, to Zayn’s hip, holding him in place as he roughly thrusts half a dozen more times before stilling deep inside him and groaning a “Fuck- _Zayn_.”

After, Liam eases out slowly, dropping heavily to the mattress beside Zayn, who’s too wiped to do anything more than swipe a few tissues from his bedside stand and get the worst of the mess, offering a couple to Liam to wipe his hand off.

There aren’t any sentimentalities exchanged, any singing of praises or exchanges of endearments.

But Zayn doesn’t complain when Liam wriggles (literally wriggles) his way under the covers, and doesn’t even consider kicking him out before they both drop off to sleep.

***

“Zayner?” Louis almost kicks the other boy (whose name Zayn still hasn't picked up) in the chin with his foot as he tries to bend back far enough to find Zayn’s face. “What're you doing here?”

He finally gives up and gets himself right way up just as Liam starts speaking, who ignores Louis' question (Zayn’s a little bit proud that he had taken his advice from the night before).

“I just gotta pay back Zayn for lunch and-”

“Wait. I know you,” Louis directs at Liam, “You were the one at the party with your-”

“Am I the only one that has no idea what's going on here?”

Everyone turns to look at...the guy (and yeah, ok, Zayn would quite like to know what's happening too, if only because it'd be good if he could know what Liam's flatmate’s – and presumably Louis' pick of the week – name is). And the guy, in turn, is staring at Zayn.

“’m Harry.”

“Zayn,” he offers back with a small salute as he brings himself into the room proper, propping himself against the doorway, still a small distance from Liam. “See you took care of my flatmate Louis here last night…apologies.”

Louis squawks in protest, but Harry only strokes his ankle where it’s sticking out from under his curled up legs on the sofa with a quiet _hush_ being whispered around a smirk that could probably be seen from space.

“Something like that. And how’ve you been corrupting our Liam here that he now owes you money?”

Harry asks the question innocently enough, but his eyes keep flickering over to Liam – who’s blushing furiously – and there’s a shadow of something else Zayn can’t quite pinpoint.

“I crashed at Zayn’s last night in the end-” Liam tries to cut in and explain (very pg-edly Zayn has to admit).

“Oh is _that_ what the kids are calling it these days,” Louis butts in again, shit-eating grin firmly in place, “Because that’s some limp Zay-”

“Shut up, Lou,” Zayn bites out, a bit harsher than he intended; really it wasn’t _that_ far out of line considering Louis’ normal behaviour, but there’s just something in the air, static that might shock and bite at you if you tried to touch it. And Liam’s looking incredibly uncomfortable between Louis’ well-meaning jabs and Harry’s scrutinising glances; Zayn just wants to make it stop.

Everyone does shut up quick though, so that’s something. Feeling as though he might say something wrong if he finished the story, he gestures at Liam to continue.

“I- so then this morning we went round to Betty’s and got the wedges,” Harry nods his approval, “but I’d managed to leave my card with Niall last night so Zayn had to pay…that’s it, really.”

“Ah. I see,” Harry seems to be letting Liam off the hook, although Zayn can still see the questions in his eyes, laced with concern, and something clenches in Zayn’s stomach. He _knew_ this had been a mistake. He really just hopes this it isn’t one that ends with Zayn getting pummelled by Louis’ new ‘friend’; he was a lanky thing, but those were proper muscles Zayn could spot under the hem of his shirt sleeves.

“Well, Zayn,” Harry continues, Zayn tensing, just in case, “you wanna stay for lunch? Me and Lou were just about to order in pizza?”

That…wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

Zayn raises his arm, indicating the paper bag holding the remnants of his breakfast-brunch-thing with Liam.

“I really, really couldn’t, mate.”

“But its _pizza_ ,” Harry says incredulously, as if that automatically overcomes a stomach already triple its regular size.

“And Harry’s flatmate has copies of all the Nolan Batman films,” Louis pouts, “we were going to marathon them.”

“Niall’s?” Zayn queries Liam, who’d gone quiet in the past minute or two.

“Uh, no…mine,” he says hesitantly.

“Li’s into _all_ that geeky shit,” pipes up Harry from where he’s now snuggling into Louis’ side.

“Called it,” Zayn murmurs so only Liam can hear.

“No. You called me a dork. Totally different.”

Of course, Louis can’t handle being left out of the conversation for long.

“Jeez, you two are _made_ for each other aren’t you? Zayn’s got piles of comic book crap and things stashed away in his cupboard of shame.”

“Really?” Liam smiles, small but curious.

Zayn snorts.

“What? You thought this was just for the aesthetic value?” He points out the huge red and yellow ‘zap’ inked into his forearm, bright among an array of other designs.

“If I didn’t hear the word pizza, followed quickly by my name, then I’ve been cruelly tricked and I want to go back to that dream please,” a thick Irish accent mumbles from behind Zayn and sidling his way into the room. A bloodshot face blears up at him. “Hey Zayn, man, good to see you again.”

“Uh, you too Niall.” Zayn doesn’t know if he should laugh or just return the bear hug the blonde boy had wrapped him in as soon as the recognition had hit him.

“No, Ni, your radars are still working. We’re just about to order – requests?” Harry pipes up from the couch.

“You,” Niall lurches away from Zayn to point at Niall, “don’t think you can make it up to me that easy. You best be shouting because that’s all I could hear last night through the bloody cardboard wall, you bastards.”

“You weren’t even home!” Harry tries to insist, but Niall’s not having it.

“Maybe not for round one, but I was most certainly home when you fucks were at it for round two at _seven on Sunday morning_.”

“Niall…that wasn’t round two.”

“Not even close,” Louis adds helpfully.

“Come on now, Niall. We’ll order you a pizza with the works, and double meat, and Haz will pay,” Liam glares at Harry as he puts an arm around Niall’s shoulder comfortingly, “and in the meantime, look what I got you.” He dangles his doggy-bag of wedges just under his nose.

“You’re the only one who truly loves me, Li,” Niall nuzzles affectionately into Liam’s neck and yeah, Zayn remembers why he’d parted with so much food with so little thought in first year; he just looks like a baby animal you can’t help but pet and feed and comfort – even hungover and shuffling into the kitchen and cursing up a storm when he crashes a pot onto the floor (“ _Please_ tell me we bought some more fucking painkillers, Liam”).

Niall also doesn’t know how to hold a grudge – luckily too overshadowed by his naturally sunny disposition – and Harry’s already all but forgiven by the time he squeezes onto the sofa next to him with a steaming hot bowl of reheated wedges, forcing Harry half into Louis’ lap, much to the clear distaste of neither.

Zayn’s been well and truly convinced into staying at this point; being in a room with this many people with irrefutable puppy-eyes/faces/beings is unhealthy for his determination. Also, there wasn’t much point in leaving without Louis at this stage and “There doesn’t look like there’s much chance in him moving anytime so I s’pose I might as well.” Accompanied by a melodramatic sigh of course – because he can’t let them think he _wants_ to be crammed into the other tiny sofa (Zayn swears it’s just a chair) with Liam.

And it’s weird, a little bit, as they all sit curled up to watch the first film, curtains pulled closed to sink them into as close to darkness as they can get at three in the afternoon. Because Zayn doesn’t do close quarters with other people; can’t, because his chest tightens and air is lead and he forgets how to breathe. Louis’ been the only one in almost a year now that he can let inside his personal space for more than a second at a time. It’s why he doesn’t do cuddling. It’s why he doesn’t _do_ staying over at his (because there is too much of his soul in that room, too much they could walk out and take with them).

But Liam’s there, pressed up against him from shoulder to knee; and it’s okay. There’s nothing sexual in it, just two warm bodies squeezed close by the limits of the sofa. But if Liam starts idly picking at the hole in Zayn’s jeans, or if Zayn, lulled by the dim light and a lack of sleep the night before, starts to slide further down in his seat, and maybe leans onto Liam’s shoulder a bit; then it might be alright. He might not understand why there isn’t the usual weight of suffocation, leaving him fidgeting, counting the seconds ‘til it’s acceptable for him to move, begging leave for a cigarette break; but it’s alright.

Louis and Zayn don't end up leaving until its dark outside and they've all finished gushing over the final film and debated the Robin reveal ( _“I thought it was sweet” “But it didn't need to be said that his bloody name was Robin, I mean I-” “I'm just gonna ignore you both and enjoy his face"_ ).

Eventually though, after some tired stretching, and Louis screeching as Harry pinches his side, they do finally make it out the door.

“So. Liam, huh?" Zayn’s vaguely impressed that they manage to make it all the way out to the street before Louis starts.

"Mmm,” he replies noncommittally. “What of it?” Zayn has an unrealistic hope that maybe Louis will just drop it.

No such luck.

“Please remind me the last time you actually spent the entire day – or any part thereof for that matter – with one of your one-nighters?”

“Ooh Louis, ‘thereof’, really? You’re cranking out the fancy words tonight; anyone would think you actually had two brain cells to rub together.”

“Oi, shut up,” Louis punches him softly in the shoulder, but then sneaks a sideways look at Zayn and adds softly, “You looked cute on the sofa together; you gonna see him again, you reckon?”

“I don’t think Liam’s really the kinda guy that’d want something casual and I- I still can’t, you know?” He leans into the comforting warmth of Louis’ hand on the back of his neck and lets himself to be tugged into his shoulder as they continue walking, awkward but comfortable.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to avoid him though exactly; not if you plan on hanging off Harry like you were today for any length of time,” Zayn points out after a moment of silence, injecting his voice with some sort of enthusiasm.

As expected, Louis latches onto the subject of Harry with gusto. Zayn tries to pay attention to what he’s saying – he really does, _“…there’s just something about him, Zayn, and I really don’t wanna get my hopes up but he just seems different from the rest, you know?”_ – but his mind keeps wandering.

He pushes his fingertips into the numbers Liam had scrawled into the underside of his wrist as they had left, burning like a brand into his skin.

_Maybe Liam’s different too._

After all, in all the distraction

Liam still owes him one.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Please, comments are life to me; also I'd like to hear whether you think this is shaping up to be a series you might like?
> 
> and I have two apologies to make:   
> 1) I realise this actually brings up a few more questions than it answers, I promise everything will be revealed, hashed out and sorted in due course  
> 2) I'm sorry, I haven't written smut in literally months and months and somehow there's 1.5k of it chucked in there. Hopefully it wasn't too painful/awkward


End file.
